


I Know You're Still Just a Dream

by cygnaut



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Brotherhood of Mutants, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Post-Divorce, The Author Regrets Nothing, pregnant!Erik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-divorce, Erik makes a startling discovery.</p><blockquote>
  <p>Erik was pleased to be at the vanguard of this dramatic new development in mutant family life, even if it was a bit inconvenient that the ‘father’ was currently his most intractable enemy. But Charles would come around eventually, and soon Erik would have some excellent emotional blackmail in the form of 8 pounds, 6 ounces of adorable tiny pink flesh.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Initially, Erik thought that he was dying.

He developed all sorts of horrible symptoms: nausea that lasted for weeks but was strangely only present in the morning, a deep sense of exhaustion he couldn’t shake no matter how much he slept, and even the occasional nose bleed.

Eventually, things got so bad that Erik could no longer deny that something was wrong. By then they had found a mutant doctor who was sympathetic to the cause, and he zeroed in on the source of the problem soon enough.

“Well,” the man had said, staring at Erik’s bloodwork with a slightly shell-shocked expression. “Either you’re pregnant or you’ve got one of the worst intestinal parasites I’ve ever seen.” 

Once he got over the initial surprise, it began to make quite a bit of sense to Erik. Of course their kind would evolve beyond the restrictive gender roles that shackled an entire 50% of the human race, effectively cutting their productivity and advancement in half. It only made sense that carrying children would become the burden of both sexes. Perhaps mutant couples in the future would actively choose which one of the pair became impregnated based on their current situation and needs rather than the limiting restrictions of genitals. 

Erik was pleased to be at the vanguard of this dramatic new development in mutant family life, even if it was a bit inconvenient that the ‘father’ was currently his most intractable enemy. But Charles would come around eventually, and soon Erik would have some excellent emotional blackmail in the form of 8 pounds, 6 ounces of adorable tiny pink flesh.

Erik is very aware of the fact that most mutants don’t manifest their powers until well into puberty. But surely the product of both his and Charles’ impressive genes will be incredibly powerful, and—one would assume—display that power while still quite young. So it’s a bit disconcerting that so far his fetus has not shown any sign of possessing unusual ability whatsoever. From what he understands, her brain should be quite well developed by now at seven months, so surely if she were telepathic he would have some sign. When he can’t sleep, which is often, Erik lies awake trying to think warm welcoming thoughts down at his belly, waiting for the clumsy probing reply of an underdeveloped consciousness. Yet so far all she seems to do is turn occasionally and kick him in the kidneys. 

Well, there are an infinite variety of mutations; it doesn’t have to be telepathy. Perhaps she can control electromagnetic forces like himself, and he didn’t really manifest until he was fourteen. It would be wonderful to watch his own daughter grow into those same powers and to help her learn to use them with him.

 Also, there’s always the possibility of a physical mutation. Erik is secretly hoping for something shocking and obviously non-human. It’s a shame Raven and Charles don’t actually share any genetic material because Erik would love a little blue scaly bundle of joy.

___

 

“Are you sure kidnapping him is the best approach?” Azazel asks, his tail twitching in that way it does when he disagrees with Erik’s plans. Lately, he seems to disagree with Erik frustratingly often. If he didn’t know better, Erik might think that Azazel was harboring chauvinistic opinions about the rights and capacities of pregnant individuals.

“Yes,” Erik says. “I am. And it’s not kidnapping, we’re just removing him to a conveniently undisclosed location.” He reaches up to adjust his helmet again. Somehow it feels too tight, like his head has swelled up as well as his belly, although that’s ridiculous. Erik might feel like a beached whale flopping about on land, but he knows he’s only put on fifteen pounds. Twenty, tops.

Azazel sighs and takes Erik’s hand. He mumbles something in Russian that sounds suspiciously like “how is this my life?”

They rematerializes in an extremely familiar room, Erik gaging on the smell of sulfur, his hormonally-enhanced senses nearly choking him. The room looks much like Erik remembers. There’s even a fire lit in the grate and the old chess set is out, the pieces arranged like a game was recently interrupted. Or not so recently, considering the amount of dust gathered on the board.

“Gah!” Charles says, nearly tipping over in his wheelchair where he’s sitting by the fire. He’s reading something, and he throws it reflexively, aiming right for Erik’s head. It’s a large scientific tome, and Azazel deftly swats it out of the air while Erik ducks down, covering his stomach with his arms.

“Is that the way you greet the man carrying your baby!?” he asks, maybe a touch shrilly.

“What?” Charles says, wheeling back a few paces, his eyes darting to the corner and the intercom button next to the door.

“Not so fast,” Erik snaps, raising his hand to drag Charles’ wheelchair forward. The handles twist apart and wrap themselves securely around Charles’ arms as Erik pulls him closer. Charles struggles halfheartedly, although he seems distracted by Erik’s distended stomach.

He nods downward. “Put on some weight have we?”

Erik takes a deep breath, standing up straight with his arms akimbo so his stomach sticks out proudly. “Yes,  _we_  have.”

“What?” Charles asks. For a mutant genius he can be remarkably slow on the uptake sometimes.

“Charles,” Erik explains. “I have amazing news. You might want to—never mind. You see, it seems that under ideal circumstances male mutants are capable of conceiving and carrying children.”

“You can’t be— _what_?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Erik says, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m pregnant.”

Charles teeters in his chair, looking faint, and Erik raises up the back a bit higher to help support him. “You’re—it’s—“

“It’s a girl,” Erik says, patting his belly and looking down with pleasure. “I brought ultrasound pictures,” he adds.

Charles finally gets control of himself enough to ask, “It’s  _mine?_ ” His tone is insultingly incredulous.

“Of course it’s yours! Are you forgetting what we got up to seven months ago?  _In this very room,_ I might add _—_ ”

“You know what?” Azazel says, interrupting. “I think I’m going to take off.”

“Wait, no!” Erik turns as quickly as he can with his huge stomach, which is not very fast. He ends up wobbling in place, one hand held out uselessly as Azazel snaps his fingers and disappears in a puff of smoke. “We have to take him to— _Azazel!_ “

Somehow his movements have brought Erik much closer to Charles, who is still strapped in place by the metal of his chair. Charles has enough room to lean forward, and he’s staring down at Erik’s stomach in slack-jawed amazement.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats, and Erik smiles.

“Seven months, do you want to feel? She was kicking earlier.”

Charles nods, still looking down, and Erik releases his arms, although he keeps one twisted piece of metal strapped strategically around his waist. Charles reaches out almost tentatively, his hands sliding around Erik’s sides and up onto the roundest part of his belly, coming to rest just below his naval. “You’re  _pregnant._ ”

“We’re pregnant,” Erik corrects, smiling as Charles lifts his chin and looks up at him with wonder in his eyes.

“I can’t even—where is the baby even  _positioned?_  Did you develop a uterus? Is there an amniotic sac? There must be—“

“Let’s not get into the details right now,” Erik says. Thinking about it too hard makes him feel strange, sort of hot and sweaty all over. “Suffice to say, there is a caesarean in my near future.”

“Seven months?” Charles asks, leaning down so the side of his head is resting on the rise of Erik’s stomach, his ear pressed against him like he’s listening for their baby’s minute movements. She chooses that exact moment to aim a kick toward the outside of Erik’s stomach, hitting Charles squarely on the chin and making him start. He bursts out laughing, sounding delighted and awed and maybe a touch hysterical.

“Thirty weeks to be precise. Actually… I was wondering if you could try communicating with her.” Erik lifts a hand to tap the side of his helmet next to his temple. “There’s something… well. I’m a bit worried.”

“Worried?” Charles asks, his head snapping up with a pleasing amount of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing,” Erik says. “It’s not like I have any experience being pregnant before. It’s just—sometimes it feels like she should be… more active.”

Charles frowns and brings one hand up to touch the side of his forehead, the other rubbing in broad circles over Erik’s stomach and right side. Erik knows for a fact that physical contact does nothing to improve Charles’ telepathy, but he decides not to point this out.   

Charles closes his eyes, his face still. It feels like a long time before he moves again, Erik’s anxiety making the moment stretch and stretch. “Oh,” Charles says, his mouth opening as his forehead creases. “Oh, my darling…  _oh._ ”

Erik’s not sure if Charles is talking to him or to the baby, but he reaches up to touch the hand on his stomach anyway.

“Oh,” Charles says again, almost whispering. “Sweet child,  _my_  child, I love you so much already—”

“ _Our_  child,” Erik corrects, squeezing Charles’ hand to bring him back to him. Charles opens his eyes slowly, blinking in confusion like he’d forgotten where he was.

“Ours,” he says, nodding up at Erik, his eyes wide with something that is either indescribable joy or deepest terror.

“Could you tell?” Erik asks. “I mean, about her abilities?”

Charles shakes his head, seeming to shake off his daze at the same time. “She’s the size of butternut squash, I don’t think she has the ability to do much more than absorb nutrients right now—oh, you mean—“

Erik nods, raising one hand and waving it encouragingly when Charles opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. “Well?”

“Um…” Charles clears his throat, leaning back slightly. “I’m honestly not sure. It is  _very_  early, Erik. I have some students who didn’t show any outward sign of their mutation until they were sixteen-years-old.”

“I realize that, of course I do!” Erik says, raising his hands in frustration. “It’s just, surely our child—I mean, your telepathy presented nearly at  _birth_!”

Charles pats his arm, looking concerned at Erik’s slightly frantic tone. “Why don’t you let me run some tests? Hank and I have made some great advances in understanding x-gene expression. I can have her DNA sequenced in under a week and then we’ll know for sure. How does that sound?”

“A week?” Erik asks. How can he possibly wait for an entire week?

“You can stay here,” Charles says, looking away like he’s trying to make the offer sound casual. “If you’re comfortable with that, I mean. I understand if you’d prefer to be with the Brotherhood.”

“I don’t know if that would be wise… only a week?”

“Less than that, six days maybe,” Charles says, a broad smile starting to stretch across his face, although he’s still not looking directly at Erik.

“I don’t know… Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.” Erik puts his hands on the small of his back, leaning to the side and groaning when his backbone pops.

“Do you want me to rub them?” Charles asks, looking at him with a satisfying amount of concern. That’s more like it. Everyone in the Brotherhood except Raven gets touchy when Erik asks them to massage his feet.

“That might be nice,” Erik concedes, settling down on the familiar armchair, which feel marvelous. It seems to have somehow held his shape for all these months, like it was waiting for his return. Erik folds his arms behind his head and plops his feet in Charles’ lap. “Get to work then.”

Charles smiles and takes Erik’s right foot in his hands, digging into his insole with his thumb.

“Six days?” Erik asks, sighing a little as Charles rubs his toes.

“Six days.”

“Fine.” The Brotherhood can get along without their leader for a week, surely. And Erik could use some time to relax. Especially if it involves foot massages. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no excuses.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik waits a few hours before he slips out to find the kitchen. Charles had deposited him in one of the house’s many anonymous guest bedrooms shortly after Erik had agreed to stay, feigning exhaustion to escape the awkwardness of their reunion. He’s not sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed that Charles didn’t give him back his old room. Probably relieved. There are a lot of memories locked away in that room, including one of the night that Charles most-likely impregnated him.

Erik had eaten earlier, but he gets hungry often these days. A midnight snack also helps him get to sleep when he’s feeling restless. He hopes Charles still keeps plenty of cheese in the fridge, his stomach rumbling a little as he makes his way through the darkened hallways.

One of the best aspects of the helmet is that Erik can now skulk around the mansion much more easily. The last time he was here Erik couldn’t wander alone for more than ten minutes without Charles mentally “overhearing” him and interrupting his peaceful brooding. Now though, so long as he’s quiet, he should be able to sneak off anywhere he pleases. It’s really very unfortunate that his displaced center-of-balance makes looming silently much more difficult these days.

Erik had expected that everyone would be in bed by this hour, so he’s more than a little startled to find that the kitchen light is on, the yellow glow of the overhead lamp spilling out into the hallway. He starts to retreat, but stops when he hears Charles’ voice.

“Really now, Alex,” Charles is saying, sounding agitated. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

There’s an answering murmur which Erik can’t quite make out. He steps closer, moving until he’s only a few paces away from the open door.

“I understand your concerns, but _I_ think that Erik will make an excellent father,” Charles says, his voice clear and distinct thanks to his rising indignation. Erik smiles to himself. Well, this is certainly more interesting than examining the contents of the cheese drawer.

“—very strong paternal instincts,” Charles says, continuing. “And clearly he wants this baby, however surprising… the… have been.”

“Sure, he wants it,” a sarcastic voice replies. “So he can mold it into his own image.” Erik is reasonably sure that the speaker is Cassidy. Or possibly some other slacker bum they picked up off the street recently.

“Charles,” McCoy says, his whining tones unmistakable. “All I’m saying is… think you …do whatever you can to stay involved.”

“I fully intend to be _involved_ , Hank, thank you—”

“You mean so long as Erik _lets_ you be involved,” says a third voice—Summers must be in the room as well.

“That’s not— …work something out.”

“I certainly hope so. Can you imagine what she’ll grow up believing if Erik is her only parent? He’ll be teaching her to say ‘I hate humans’ as soon as she can mumble ‘dada’—”

They must turn away from the door then, probably moving over the table, their voices growing muffled and indistinct. Erik’s stomach rumbles again and he decides to retreat. He can always raid Charles’ secret chocolate stash in the library. Still, it was worth coming down here just for that little bit of reconnaissance. Clearly he needs to work on driving a wedge between Charles and his young charges.

___

Breakfast the next day is awkward to say the least. The three boys are as suspicious and mistrustful of Erik in the morning as they were last night. Furthermore, none of them bother to hide their doubts about the whole situation or Erik’s suitability as a parent. Erik tries to remain stoic in the face of their insinuations. Being unfairly attacked can only help his position with Charles, and Erik is very pleased when his patience pays off.  

“If you can’t be civil, you can go eat somewhere else,” Charles says finally, setting down his coffee cup with a clatter. Erik politely stares down at his plate as the boys file out, doing his best to pretend like he isn’t deeply amused by their dismissal.

“Wait—" Charles says. "Hank, did you prepare the infirmary like we discussed last night?”

McCoy pauses in the doorway, frowning. “Not yet. I will, but I’d really prefer not to have to—”

“Please, Hank,” Charles says, throwing him a look that is equal parts demanding and pleading. “I need your expertise here.”

McCoy puffs up a little at Charles’ praise, but still manages to look put upon as he nods. “Fine. I’ll prep the equipment and let you know when everything is ready.”

“Equipment?” Erik asks, waiting until McCoy is well out of earshot.

Charles clears his throat. “Yes. You see, Hank and I have been setting up a medical facility here—in case of emergencies and for mutants who can’t risk visiting a human hospital. Everything is very cutting-edge, and we recently made what you might call an extremely fortuitous purchase...”

___

A few hours later, Erik finds himself lying on his back in the makeshift “infirmary” with a very full bladder and a lot of cold gelatinous goo coating his stomach. McCoy is excited, his earlier misgivings vanished by the opportunity to play doctor. He’s smiling brightly as he turns away from the supply cabinet hefting a needle so long it’s nearly the size of Erik’s arm.

Erik scoots away from him and the incoming syringe, moving to the end of the exam table and swinging one leg over the edge. “You know what, maybe this was a bad idea. It’s better to wait, isn’t it? You’re right, it is. I’ll just go call Azazel—”

Charles wheels around to block him, moving from his position at the head of the table. “Erik, you know you’ll be back here in less than a day announcing that you’ve changed your mind. Amniocentesis is a very common, very safe procedure.”

“It really is,” McCoy says, putting the needle behind his back and baring his ape teeth in what he probably thinks is a reassuring expression. “The miscarriage rate is less than 1 in 200.”

“ _Miscarriage?”_ Erik repeats, leaning forward to wrap his arms protectively around his stomach. Some of the gel gets on his hands and forearms, which makes it somewhat difficult to maintain his hold.

Charles sighs and glares at McCoy. “That’s less than half of one percent, it’s extremely rare.”

“I can still manage _basic fractions_ , thank you, professor. The hormones haven’t addled my brain quite that badly.”

“Erik,” Charles says, using his most condescending tone and wheeling himself close enough to reach up and put a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I promise, it is going to be _fine._ That’s why we’re doing the ultrasound, so we can see exactly where the needle is and be as careful as possible.”

“Oh, how comforting. You’ll be able to see everything that’s happening on the four-inch black-and-white screen with the two-dimensional sound picture that makes our daughter look like an misshapen squid.”

“I think she looks like a very shapely squid.”

“Shut up.” Erik turns to look at McCoy. “Exactly how many of these procedures have you done? More than 200?”

“Um,” McCoy says.

“That’s what I thought, forget it.” Erik manages to swing his other leg around before Charles rolls even closer, bracing his hands on the table on either side of Erik’s knees.

“ _Erik_ ,” he says, teeth gritted. “There is literally no one on this earth who has experience performing prenatal genetic tests on a pregnant male. Hank understands mutant anatomy. He has spent the past year studying biology and medicine nonstop. He would have earned a degree by now if the Westchester medical board wouldn’t flinch at licensing someone covered in blue fur. Most experienced MDs would be put to shame by him. You are _safe_ here _,_ nothing is going to go wrong.”

Erik stills, clenching his teeth as Charles finishes his lecture. “Are you going to strap me down?” he asks, his voice dropping low. The metal tray full of instruments next to them starts to rattle ominously in the background.

Charles blinks and lifts his chin. He leans back slowly, seeming to notice for the first time that he’s boxing Erik in, trapping him in place with his arms. He lets go of the table and raises his hands into the air, palms out.

McCoy does not appear to notice the change in mood. Erik can hear him shifting closer like he thinks medical restraints might be a very good idea indeed. His next step brings him into Erik’s somewhat-limited peripheral vision, and Erik flinches back when he sees the needle still clenched in his outstretched hand. The instruments rattle again like a small group of frightened animals. Several clamps fall to the floor with a jarring clang, the sound echoing loudly off the sterile white walls.

“ _Hank_ ,” Charles snaps, raising one arm so it’s in front of Erik and spinning around one-handedly. “Will you—it’s not you, all right? Just—go outside and wait for a few minutes. _Please_.”

“Sorry,” McCoy mutters, backing out with his hands raised in surrender. Erik is very relieved when he takes the needle with him.

“I really don’t like doctors,” he says, gritting his teeth after the door closes.

“I know,” Charles answers, taking both of Erik’s hands in his own and squeezing. His hands are still greasy from the gel, but Charles doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry. Would you really be more comfortable in a hospital? We could find somewhere, I promise.”

“I’m a little afraid of how they might react to seeing a pregnant male mutant.” Erik represses a shudder, making sure that Charles can see the tremble in his shoulders. “I’m sure there are plenty of other tests they’d like to run.”

“I could wipe their minds after,” Charles offers, his blue eyes clear and genuine as he stares up at Erik’s face. 

Erik has to fight back a smile, pressing his lips together and trying to pass it off as a nervous twitch. Some of his favorite daydreams involve Charles offering to telepathically control, mind wipe, and (occasionally) murder humans in Erik’s defense. Lately, he’s had a lot of fantasies in which Charles lashes out against a violent mob of mutantcidal humans while holding their daughter in his arms, his face twisted in righteous fury. It’s nice to know that those dream weren’t complete wishful thinking.

“Listen, maybe this would be easier if you… let me in?” Charles releases one of Erik’s hands so he can touch his temple.

Erik scoffs. “No.”

“Well, you can’t blame a man for trying,” Charles says, smiling a little to show he isn’t upset by Erik’s rejection.

Charles ends up holding Erik’s hand after he reluctantly allows McCoy back into the room. Erik tries to stay focused on the monitor and the blurry blob that is their daughter. It works up until to the point when McCoy actually sticks him with the gigantic fucking needle. Even though he’s not looking down at his stomach, Erik can still see it come into view on the screen as a thin line invading the image, sliding dangerously close to their daughter’s tiny body. Erik tries to concentrate on her features, willing himself not to clench up at the sharp pain. He hopes that the somewhat alien-like appearance of her face is a sign of nonhuman facial structure, but possibly she just looks strange in black and white.

It hurts despite the anesthesia and McCoy’s reassurances that it wouldn’t. Charles’ grip tightens, and even though he’s right there Erik suddenly feels—very alone. Or very aware of his loneliness. He lifts his hand, grasping the bottom of his helmet without being completely aware of what he’s doing. He almost lifts it off—the need to feel the calming presence of Charles’ mind overwhelming—but he manages to get control of himself after a moment.  

Erik bites his lip and turns the helmet instead of taking it off, adjusting it so the eye-slits are better positioned. Charles is looking away, eyes on the monitor, but Erik thinks he sees something like disappointment in the pinched corners of his mouth.

“Good, Hank, that’s enough,” Charles says, shifting to put a steadying hand on top of Erik’s stomach as McCoy withdraws the needle.

“Got it!” McCoy says, holding up the syringe in triumph. Erik feels vaguely ill seeing the amniotic fluid sloshing around inside. He bends down, hissing as he feels a sharp pain like a muscle cramp. 

“Excellent work!” Charles says, smiling at McCoy as he pats Erik’s back. “Breath, dear. Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Erik grits. He inhales deeply and the pain fades to more of a dull ache, the anesthesia finally making itself known. “I mean, it did. A bit. But it’s going away now.”

“Good,” Charles says, running a soothing hand up and down his back. “The puncture may be sore for a few days. But by the end of the week we should have the results processed and her genes analyzed. Now why don’t we have another look and make sure she’s doing all right?”

McCoy steps out to begin preparing the samples, leaving them blessedly alone while Charles reapplies the ultrasound wand to Erik’s belly. Their daughter swims back into view, the image swirling and shifting as Charles tries to find the best angle. “She looks okay, I don’t think she even noticed.”

“Good.”

“Do you see the wall here?” Charles says, indicating a very solid looking line on the right side of the screen. “I think that’s the placenta and then this shadow here is your pseudo-uterus. I can’t wait to get a better look at the outer membrane when you deliver. It’s hard to tell from here, but it looks like it’s actually an extension of—”

“Can we please not discuss my pseudo-uterus?” Erik asks, feeling mildly ill. He’d really prefer that the miracle of life inside of him remain as mysterious as possible.

“Sorry. Oh—but do you see that?” Charles asks, tapping on the glass above a ripple near the center of their daughter’s chest. There’s a little circle of wavy lines there that looks something like a whirlpool. “I’m pretty sure that’s her heart beating.”

“Oh,” Erik says, startled. They watch her heart pulse for a moment, the tiny muscle thrumming gently. Charles shifts the wand in search of a better view and one of her hands comes into focus on the screen, five tiny fingers flexing and clenching into a fist. “Is she—sucking her thumb?”

“Could be, fetuses do sometimes.”

“Nasty habit,” Erik says, making a face. They’ll have to watch for that; she’ll ruin her teeth if they’re not careful. “She must have gotten it from you.”

Charles snorts. “Excuse me, I never sucked my thumb. I was a very well-behaved baby.”

“Well, neither did I.”

Charles looks away, his smile turning sly. “Although I might have had a binky.”

“ _Ugh_. Our daughter is not going to get a pacifier.”

“Why not? It’s comforting, and it doesn’t hurt anything so long as you take it away once they get older.”

“It’s disgusting. A nasty human tradition.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are we raising her solely using mutant traditions now? Because that might be difficult seeing as there aren’t any yet.” 

“Are we?” Erik asks, ignoring the playful glint in Charles’ eyes. “Raising her?” It’s something of an abrupt subject change, but now seems like a good time to ask. Charles has been looking very paternal throughout this whole ordeal, still flushed and proud in the glow of the monitor.

“Hm? It’s not like she can raise herself,” Charles says, adjusting the wand again without really looking at Erik. 

“I meant—who said we’re doing this _together_?”

Charles blinks, turning away from the image. His smile drops away as his face pales. “What? I thought that—I mean, I’d—l’d like to—to help. In whatever capacity you’re willing to—uh—to have me.”

Erik rather wants to draw this out, enjoying Charles’ rising alarm and the way he’s starting to wring his hands at the mere suggestion that Erik might not let him be a part of their child’s life. It’s not that he wants to torture Charles so much as that he’s enjoying seeing how sincere he is in wanting to be here. 

“Of course I want you involved. Why do you think I came back? I only meant, it won’t exactly be easy. I’m sure we’ll have many… differences of opinion." Just the thought makes Erik sigh. "Parenting differences, ideological differences, philosophical differences, _religious_ —”

“I’m not expecting it to be easy! I know it won’t be, I just—I _know_ we can make this work, Erik, however it—whatever that means for the two of us.”

Erik presses his lips together and nods, choosing to leave the question of their future relationship open. Better to keep Charles on his toes for now. He holds out his hands and Charles reaches to take them again, his smile returning. “I’m truly very, very happy, Erik.”

“So am I,” Erik replies, careful to keep his tone from sounding too hopeful. “I’m sorry, it’s only that this has all been so… unexpected.”

Charles nods, looking very earnest as he presses Erik’s hands to his chest. “I know. But it’ll be all right. We can figure it out.” He clears his throat, eyes darting away nervously as he adds, “Um, I could convert?”  

Erik tilts his head, wondering where that came from. “That’s… a nice sentiment, but no. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Oh,” Charles says, nodding. “Okay. I’m just saying, for the record.”

“But we’re not having her baptized.”

Charles frowns. “But—for four generations every Xavier baby has been taken to—”

“What? She’s not going to be an _Xavier_.”

Charles’ mouth closes with a click. “But—”

“Absolutely not.”

“We could hyphen—”

“No.”

Charles sighs. “Lehnsherr’s really a very nice name.”


End file.
